Code Name: Dove. Judith Leon

him looking back at her. To her knowledge, the magnitude of this kind of devastation on a repeated basis was unprecedented.

      Price continued. “This bastard informed the President that the air crashes were ‘just punishment.’ After its first defeat, Senator Legnett reintroduced the legislation and it also didn’t pass on a second vote.”

      “I remember the vote,” she said.

      “After that second negative vote, through an astonishing piece of luck, authorities at Glen Canyon Dam in Arizona found a bomb in time to prevent the dam from being blown all over the northern Arizona desert. The Founder—or as he is affectionately addressed by most agents tasked to stop him, The Fucker—claimed responsibility.”

      “Is Senator Legnett implicated?” she asked.

      “Not yet. Though you can be sure the intelligence community now knows more than God does about Senator Legnett.”

      Price frowned, then added, “Britain, Germany and France are dealing with similar threats. To date the Japanese remain untouched. Most likely The Founder simply can’t place operatives in Japan. There seems to be no end to the demands. The most recent is that President McBride increase our donation to UN family planning programs from three hundred and thirty million to two billion dollars per year.”

      “Extraordinary,” Cardone said, shaking his head. “This madman doesn’t want money. He doesn’t want his terrorist brethren released. He doesn’t want the government to give North Dakota and Utah back to the Native Americans or for all Protestants to leave Ireland. He wants Americans to drive fuel-conserving cars and promote birth control?”

      “Quite so. To put it bluntly, The Founder states that he feels the world is woefully fucked up, and he is going to unfuck it. Which brings us to your assignment— Operation Jacaranda. There’s a young German politician, Jean Paul König. He’s riding the crest of the resurgent German ecology movement. He once belonged to the Greens, but he’s now the foremost proponent of his own aggressive brand of ecological politics. Six days ago, a Company contact in East Germany was found dead. Cause undetermined. But she had passed a message suggesting that König’s German Homeland Party was in some way involved in an ‘accident’ at one of the French nuclear plants. Need I say, one of The Founder’s faxes referred to this ‘accident.’

      “There’s not a breath of serious scandal in König’s dossier and the man certainly isn’t alone in objecting to nuclear power, so a connection between König, the plant accident and The Founder must be considered unlikely. But since our asset’s report is presently the only real lead we have, we must pursue it full-throttle.

      “Nova, we want you to get close to König. You and Joe can make contact as a team. A writer and photographer. You utilize your genuine, and may I say formidable, photographic skills. We’ve arranged for it to appear as if you two have been working together for several years. Joe works for you, Nova, as your assistant. He also writes articles built around your photos.”

      “Isn’t it more usual that a writer would hire a photographer?” Cardone interjected, his tone stiff. “Shouldn’t she be working for me?”

      Surprised that Cardone would dare to challenge Price himself, Nova stared at the agent. Apparently he had been so intent he hadn’t thought before speaking. Clearly a strong emotion had been running his mouth—most likely ambition. And then there was also that thing about her being a woman. Maybe that was it. Or just that her performance in Fairbanks had certainly left a whole lot to be desired.

      “You need to keep in mind that our analysts believe the way to this man is through Nova,” Price said to Car-done, his voice having taken on a decidedly chilly tone.

      She turned her attention back to Price. Cardone, she noted, had the good sense to remain silent.

      “Wait, are you suggesting that I seduce him?” she asked, the steel in her voice leaving no doubt as to her feelings on the subject. “You know, I don’t do seduction.”

      “Charm him, Nova. As only you can do,” Price said, capitulating. “This is your great gift. That way you have of winning trust. How far you take it will, of course, be up to you.”

      Price shifted his gaze to Cardone and added, “We want König’s attention on Nova. Our psych analysts feel that if anything can disarm König, it’s a woman with genuine talent, such as her photography. And what Nova has in addition is a seeming fragility that disarms the susceptible male. And our psych profilers are convinced König is susceptible.”

      Cardone turned to face her, giving her a thorough inspection, head to toe. She could almost feel him touching her—not undressing her, as men often did with their eyes when she took the time to dress up and look nice—but tracing her face and clothes as though trying to discover the magic she possessed that Price seemed to be talking about.

      She was her usual self, the self that Penny said she wore to make herself invisible. Very little makeup and plain black slacks and a forest green shirt. But Penny was right. When she got dressed up, some strange chemistry happened between her and most men she met. And if getting next to this König was the assignment, dressing up would certainly be part of the strategy. She smiled. Her new partner was in for a big surprise.

      Cardone, who couldn’t know her thoughts, smiled back in a way that said he was resolved to play his part in this charade whether he believed Price’s estimation of her or not.

      Price continued his lecture to her partner. “While you may think it more natural for the journalist to hire a photographer, world-class photographers often work the other direction. That’s what we see here, Agent Car-done. Keep in mind also that you were selected in part because when you dress appropriately, you can pass as much younger than you are. We want this.

      “And by the way, I’ve already had our research people check out that lead, Terratornis. It’s not a dinosaur. It’s an extinct giant vulture.”

      Odd, she thought. Why in the world would a terrorist group be yelling the name of an extinct giant bird when they were blowing up the pipeline?

      “Both of you will be worked hard for the next eight days to bring you on-line with Operation Jacaranda, at a place not far from here,” Price said, interrupting her thoughts. “Your contact in the field will be the chief of station in Berlin, Martin Davidson.”

      Price informed them about their briefing later in the afternoon and then dismissed them.

      Chapter 7

      The Founder’s Compound

      For over an hour The Founder’s enforcer, Franz Maurus, had studied the Earth’s Warriors recruitment reports. Since his return from Alaska he’d noticed that the number of dedications was falling dangerously behind schedule. He rubbed his dead cheek. The problem wasn’t recruitment. It was the dedication process. He rang Singh’s laboratory.

      When the Indian scientist picked up, Maurus said, “I’m coming to the laboratory.”

      He strode across his office and into the underground hallway that connected the office to Singh’s lab. He found Singh standing between two rows of laboratory benches, the small glass-enclosed experimental chamber behind him. Sitting in the chamber, bound to a straight-backed chair, was a young woman Maurus didn’t recognize.

      Singh said, “I trust your trip was successful, Herr Maurus.”

      Despite his general disgust for the forty-year-old scientist, Maurus usually experienced the thin, balding Indian’s singsong accent as soothing. Now, however, the soft words merely irritated. Again out of habit Maurus stroked his limp cheek. “I am reviewing the buildup of fighting manpower. We are behind schedule.”

      “Yes. There is a problem. But it’s not serious.”

      “From the moment of the first public demonstration of The Founder’s power, any delay in our plans is serious. We are being hunted now, by every powerful agency in the world. We must move swiftly. Why have